


la lune

by starpuff



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Ghost!AU, me characterizing tsukishima for 7k
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-19 10:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29624901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starpuff/pseuds/starpuff
Summary: Tsukishima really can't get a break from troublesome events, even in death.
Relationships: Tsukishima Kei/Reader
Kudos: 11





	1. lumière

In death, Tsukishima is silent and watchful.

He was expecting more from the afterlife, to be honest; maybe a grand welcoming from other spirits meant to guide him, or a solemn grim reaper ready to take his soul. Instead, Tsukishima opens his eyes to see himself lying on his bed—his heart still, breath stolen from his lips.

Laughing wryly, he thinks this is just his luck. To die this young after all his efforts to get where he is now, Tsukishima wants to ask if this is a punishment from his past life. Well, he supposes it’s his _past_ past life now. Not that it really matters anymore.

He feels lighter, unbound from the earthly chains that tied him to the world of the living, but Tsukishima is focused on the way his body peacefully rests, like this was just an ordinary morning. As if he would wake in a few minutes and everything would go back to how it was. The thought of this draws out another laugh.

Tsukishima wonders who will find him. Maybe Akiteru in the afternoon, when he drops off some of their mom’s homemade cooking for lunch, or Hinata, when he shows up at his house uninvited to bug him about playing monthly volleyball with the old Karasuno team. He hopes it’s not Yamaguchi. He would probably take it the hardest, worrying for hours and hours after unanswered texts and calls only to find his worst fears coming true.

A sigh leaves him, and Tsukishima stares at his hand, trying to fight the dread pooling in his stomach when he can almost see the pattern of the floorboards through it. The first Truth hits him all at once, knocking the faux apathy he holds so dear to his heart straight out of his system:

_He’s dead._

* * *

The second Truth hits Tsukishima soon after, somewhere in between the mayhem of his body being found and the ambulance being called:

_No one can see him._

Albeit, this comes as less of a shock to him. He is what the world calls a ghost. Stuck inside the confines of the place in which he passed, unknown to anyone else, Tsukishima decides to spend most of his time watching the world through the window.

There’s usually nothing much to see, even in the summer—an occasional kid that bikes through the streets, an elderly couple that takes morning and afternoon walks, a dog in need of its daily exercise. It’s all the standard suburban neighborhood life, at least from his experience when he was alive.

Sometimes, he watches a couple of highschoolers passing a volleyball to each other in the park across his house, and it makes his heart nostalgic in a way he doesn’t want to admit. Tsukishima sees them and sees a baby crow and a king, practicing late into the night to prove their place on the team. He sees a murder of crows that wished to reclaim their clipped wings and soar into the sky.

His ceiling is low, his walls suffocating. The sky seems so out of reach, even through paned glass—Tsukishima doesn’t think he even remembers how it feels to fly.

A wave of bitterness washes over him, leaving him a darkened shade in the sand. Tsukishima knows this is just his isolation talking, whispering illusions into his mind, but resentment festers regardless. He is left abandoned, fixed in a single place while everyone moves forward without him.

 _So what?_ the voice inside him mocks. _It’s not like you’re alive anymore for it to matter to anyone else._

And here is the third Truth:

_Everything feels empty until he meets you._

It doesn’t seem like much at first, just another person moving into the area. Tsukishima wonders distantly if they’re going to live in the house with the family that just recently moved out, maybe bring a few kids to brighten up the community, but curiosity quickly shifts into panic when the moving van parks right outside of his house.

He rushes to the front door, his mind racing. Tsukishima was foolish, too comfortable in the monotony of his day-to-day life. The muffled voices grow louder with each passing second, until there is a jangling of keys and the door opens.

Tsukishima freezes, his eyes wide as you enter the house, preoccupied with the person you’re talking to on the phone haphazardly tucked between your shoulder and ear. The box in your arms looks a bit too heavy for you to handle on your own, judging by the way you have to adjust your grip on it every few seconds.

“No, exactly, that’s what I’m _saying_ —” you say, a huff coming soon after. “It’s okay, I’ll call you later, bye.”

You set the box down and look up; Tsukishima swears he sees your gaze catch on his figure for a split second, but you turn away back to the van, ready to move the rest of the boxes inside. _Right, I’m invisible._

The reminder sobers him a little, allows him to calm his nonexistent heartbeat. He trails behind you as you enter again with the rest of your boxes, careful not to accidentally bump anything and arouse suspicion from the newcomer. The realistic part of his mind pipes in, a little more sarcastically than he would like to hear in this moment:

_Oh, it’s not like there’s anything to be suspicious about in this house. Not like someone died in here and their spirit is haunting the place or anything._

Tsukishima sneers at the voice, biting back with the same sarcasm. At least he’s not _vengeful_ ; he’s completely unproblematic.

_You say as you’re following her around the house._

He’s done talking to himself. It was _his_ house, it’s not like he chose to be trapped here. Still, he continues to follow you, going from room to room unpacking everything. If he looks on the bright side, he won’t be as bored as he was looking out the window all day. Granted, he feels a sense of an invasion of privacy, being given a roommate he didn’t ask for, but as a ghost, Tsukishima learns that months of staring at the ceiling in a deathly quiet house gets old fast.

As if on cue, a loud crash sounds and his head snaps to where it comes from, only to find you on the floor with an abandoned ladder against the cupboard and a broken vase beside you.

“Wow,” he drawls, the first time he’s spoken in months. You tense slightly at these words, and Tsukishima frowns. There’s no way you can hear him, unless he’s somehow magically come back to life. He shakes his head and scoffs. _As if._

“Well!”

Tsukishima startles.

“Looks like I didn’t need that vase after all!”

Great. He’s roommates with a girl that talks to herself. At least the house will be more entertaining than he originally thought.

“So,” you begin, swiveling to look directly at him. “What’s your name?”

_Oh._

_What the fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @star-puff on tumblr :)


	2. lune

For all the flippant posturing he prides himself in, Tsukishima is decidedly very freaked out.

He stares at you for a good minute, mouth agape and eyes wide.

You give him a bland look, remarking, “So you decide to make fun of a girl who fell from a ladder and then act shocked when she starts a conversation?”

He keeps staring. You stare back. _How can you stare back?_

“Okay, clearly, this is a new thing for you.” You raise a hand and wave. “Hi, I’m Y/N, I can see ghosts. Nice to meet you!”

Tsukishima is about to respond, but nothing except a deadpan _“What.”_ comes out.

You raise a brow. “Usually they’re more excited to find someone that can see them, but this is fine, too. Alright, you process that,” you begin, walking past him into the hallway, “I’ll finish unpacking.”

He hears your voice echo through the house a few seconds later. “Take your time! No rush!”

Tsukishima snaps out of his stupor in the following seconds, your words still swirling in his head. You can see him, you can _talk_ to him, and you were _most definitely_ making fun of him. At this realization, he hurries out of the room, only to find you relaxed in the kitchen sipping from a cup of water.

“Are you not freaked out by this?” He’s still baffled, and the amount of pure emotion he has shown in the last few minutes is astounding. The Karasuno team would be _shocked._

You tilt your head. “Drinking water from the tap? Kinda, but desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“No, _dumbass_ ,” he bites with more heat than expected. “The fact that I’m a ghost haunting your new house.”

You grin cheekily, setting the cup down. “Oh, my bad. Well, to answer your question…” 

Leaning your head against your palm, elbow on the table, you give him a once over before continuing. “When you’ve lived your entire life seeing ghosts everywhere you go, let’s just say it loses the impact the hundredth time around.”

“You’re telling me you’re just fine with this?” Tsukishima gestures to himself. “I’m stuck here—you’re going to get a roommate you didn’t sign up for.”

“I don’t see why not,” you say, taking another sip. “It _is_ my first time rooming with a ghost, but it shouldn’t be a problem.” 

You pause for a moment before adding hastily, “As long as you don’t peep on me in the shower.”

Tsukishima scoffs, rolling his eyes. “What do you take me for, a pervert?”

Your eyebrows scrunch as you muse in thought. “Probably not? But you never told me your name, so what should I call you…Mr. Ghost? Mr. Pervert? Mr. Pervert-Ghost?”

He lets out a deep sigh, resisting the urge to slap his hand to his forehead. It seems he can’t escape troublesome people even in the afterlife.

“Tsukishima. Tsukishima Kei.”

* * *

You fall into a familiar rhythm with Tsukishima. 

In the morning, he manages to act as your personal alarm when the clock at your bedside inevitably fails after hitting snooze one too many times in a fit of morning drowsiness. His wake-up call is accompanied by petty insults and snarky comments that you would rather not be faced with when the sun is barely above the horizon, but you learn to prefer that over getting fired for being late on the job.

After lugging yourself out of bed, an arduous task, you make quiet conversation with Tsukishima over a cup of coffee.

“So, you played volleyball?” The question comes a bit out of the blue, and Tsukishima tenses.

He remembers the sting of the ball against his palms, the roar of the crowd around him. His heart aches at the memory, and Tsukishima looks to his hands—barely translucent, just enough to see a faint outline of the objects before him. In his hands, he only sees the things he wishes he could have done. The opportunities that were taken away in a mere instant. 

A ‘ _what-if’_ flits by, imagining what it would be like to have his life still in his grasp, but Tsukishima pushes the thought away in favor of frowning, suspicion arising. “How did you know?”

“Ah.” You look down, swirling the contents of your mug with a small spoon. The cream had turned the drink into a soft brown, the leftover sugar having long since settled to the bottom. “Some of the neighbors were asking if I knew what happened to the last owner of the house, since they thought it was haunted for a long time and all that. They asked if I felt cursed or anything.” 

You laugh a little and glance at him before continuing, fiddling with the handle of the mug. “So I asked around a bit, wondering if anyone knew about you before you died. Sorry, I should have checked with you if that was okay.”

Irritation sparks in his chest, crackling to the tip of his tongue. “Why?”

“Huh?”

“Why did you do that?” Tsukishima stands, the chair scraping across the floor. “Don’t go snooping into other people’s business like it’s your place.” 

Tsukishima’s past is carefully tucked away. It’s something that he looks back on like a newly scabbed wound, still tender from his days of being alone. Still, it serves as a reminder of the memories and the people he remembers as precious, providing the comfort of home he desperately needs even now. The words run like electricity out of him, an unstoppable current.

“I’m not some unsolved mystery that you can use to pass your time or satisfy your curiosity. My past is not your next form of _entertainment._ You had _no right_.”

“I know, I know.” Your fingers whiten around the mug. “It just happened to come up in the conversation and then I ended up asking—”

He scoffs, looking down at you. Before you can say another word, Tsukishima interrupts with a cold, “You’re going to be late.”

You glance at the clock behind you at his words and curse, nearly spilling the coffee in your panic. Scrambling to gather your things, you rush out the kitchen, pausing for only a second at the front door. He watches your commotion with his arms crossed, face blank.

“I,” you begin, turning the knob. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

The door shuts quietly, and Tsukishima is left with a heavy blanket of silence that drapes over the house. 

His anger still roils beneath, ready to bubble at the surface at any moment. Tsukishima’s fist hits the table, rattling the contents on it. “ _Shit._ ”

By the time you arrive home, the sky a wash of oranges and pinks fading into greys, Tsukishima’s anger has simmered. Annoyance still pricks at his skin, but his mask of indifference is back on, making it easier for him to listen when you apologize a third time.

You had returned in a silent manner, a little jittery from the events of the morning as you peeked around the corner to gauge Tsukishima’s current mood. At his dry glance meeting your eyes, you made your way to the couch, sitting next to him with your hands folded in your lap. You prepare for the worst.

“I’m really, really, _really_ sorry,” you start slowly, regret clear on your face. “I let my curiosity get the best of me and I crossed a line that I shouldn’t have. You have every right to be mad. I should have respected your privacy and asked you if it was okay for me to do any of that before I did.”

He wants to stay mad, he really does, but it’s hard to not let his irritation wane when you look so goddamn _sincere_. Death has made him soft, he laments.

You clap your hands together, your head bowed and your eyes squeezed shut. “I promise I won’t do it again!”

Tsukishima gives you a once over, sniffs with an upturned nose, and suspense hangs between the two of you. He thinks you’re barely breathing. 

“You better not.”

You let out a sigh of relief, all the tension leaving your body as you collapse on the couch. “Thank _god_ , I thought I was going to have to live with an upset ghost the rest of my life.”

He rolls his eyes. “Why do you care so much? If I was still mad after this what would you do then?”

“I’d keep trying until you forgive me, of course!”

“ _Hah?_ ”

You smile at him, ignoring his incredulous response. “‘Cause we’re friends, dummy!”

Tsukishima blinks, trying to process your words one syllable at a time. _Friends_ , you said with complete confidence, no hesitation whatsoever. _Friends_ , with a dead man who you haven’t even known for a whole month yet. 

“And because we’re friends,” you continue, bouncing back on the balls of your feet to stand with hands on your hips, “I need you to know that if you ever want to talk about anything, let any feelings out or talk about your past, I’ll always be open to listen. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be there.”

You are an enigma, he decides, ignoring the warmth blooming in his chest. A complete, and utter enigma.

* * *

“Say, Tsukishima?” Your voice is strained.

“Yes?”

“You can touch physical objects, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

Your fingertips are aching, trying to reach for something unattainable. “Could you get this plate for me?”

He’s been watching you attempt to tiptoe on a stool for five minutes, brows scrunched in concentration, as you try to reach a plate placed in the back of the top shelf. Part of him thinks it’s amusing how hard you try, but he decides to let you come to your own conclusions somewhere in your own stubbornness.

“Oh, so now you’re going to ask for help,” Tsukishima drawls. “I thought you said you could do it and _‘not to underestimate you.’_ ” His voice goes higher, fingers making air quotes around his imitation of you.

“Alright, so I was overconfident,” you huff, still on your toes. He eyes your quivering legs carefully, stepping closer just in case. You turn sharply, ready to finish your thoughts. “But it’s not my fault that—”

Your foot misses the edge of the stool. A scream leaves your mouth at the same an unintelligible mangle of different curse words leaves his, and Tsukishima rushes forward, arms out ready to catch you—

—only for you to phase right through him, crashing onto the floor with a loud thud.

_“Ow.”_

Tsukishima freezes, his arms still outstretched. You pout from behind him, wincing as you try to stand. You tentatively stand, a relieved sigh leaving your lips as you stand without any sharp bursts of pain.

“You know, I never used to fall this much before I met you,” you joke, walking towards him.

Silence.

His pupils are blown wide, hands shaking. All he hears is the sound of sirens, high-pitched wailings of the alarms. People shout all around him, orders of who starts chest compressions, who mans the defibrillator, who calms down the man restrained in the corner, crying his name.

“ _Tsukki! Tsukki, please don’t leave me—wake up! Wake up, Tsukki! Tsukki—”_

“Tsukishima?” 

His breathing grows faster, more frantic as the noises in his head collide all at once.

_“I’m right here, I’m right in front of you!” Tsukishima tries to grab onto Yamaguchi, passing through like the past five times he’s tried to reach him. Yamaguchi is in hysterics, clawing at the man holding him back, screaming, screaming, screaming, and Tsukishima just wants this all to stop._

_“Time of death, approximately—”_

_“No! You have to try again, I can’t—”_

“Kei!”

His head snaps to you, your eyes speaking what your words cannot. _It’s okay,_ you soothe, your hand hovering over his cheek. _You’re okay._

Tsukishima takes a shaky breath, his fingers rising in a hopeless attempt to meet yours. The sirens are gone, the screams dulled. He sees your face in front of him, the stool on the ground, the plate still sitting on the top shelf of the cabinet, untouched. The sun outside peeks its last from behind the horizon, setting everything in a warm orange glow; the birds chirp songs on the branches. 

He’s okay.

* * *

“So, can you get that plate for me?”

“No.”

_“Keeeeiiii.”_

A beat.

“Fine.”

* * *

It’s a Saturday night, and Tsukishima insists on making you watch Jurassic Park. 

“It’s a cultural experience,” he says, grabbing the newly bought DVD from your hands. “The revolutionary film of the decade.”

“How is it a cultural experience if it’s an American movie?” you ask skeptically. You sink into the couch, watching Tsukishima place the disk into the player. This may be the most passionate you’ve ever seen him.

He clicks his tongue. “The fact that you have to ask that says a lot.”

Rolling your eyes, you pat the space next to you on the couch. “Yeah, yeah, I’m the dumbass that hasn’t watched the dinosaur movie.”

The offended stare he gives you makes you restrain a fit of muffled giggles. “The dinosaur mo—”

“Oh shush, sit down and start it already.”

He huffs but does so regardless, muttering under his breath. “ _‘The dinosaur movie,’_ I can’t _believe_ —”

You would smack him if you could.

The night comes to a close in that fashion, only the sounds of the movie filling the silence between you. It feels wrong to even make a peep, what with Tsukishima staring intently at the screen like it contains the hidden secret to eternal life. You sit tucked between his spirit and a pillow you grab halfway through the movie once the raptors appear; it remains clutched to your chest until the credits begin to roll.

By the time the movie ends, the clock reads ‘ _12:02AM’_ in bright red.

“I must say,” you begin, switching off the TV. “You were right—that was really good.”

Tsukishima gives you a smug smirk. “I’m always right.”

You give him a deadpan stare, grabbing the blanket on the nearest Ottoman. “Okay, while you keep lying to yourself, I’m going on the roof for fresh air; are you joining me or not?”

He gestures to himself. “I can’t leave the house, remember?” 

You’ve lived with Tsukishima long enough to know that the word _‘dumbass’_ is meant to be said right after, and your nose crinkles. “Well, technically you’re still _on_ the house,” you say, opening the rooftop hatch, “so you might as well try.”

He eyes the ladder you’re climbing. “Don’t fall.”

“ _Shut up,_ don’t jinx me.”

You manage to climb up without any disasters with unneeded commentary from Tsukishima, and you settle a safe distance away from the entrance, drawing your knees to your chest. You wrap the blanket around your figure, creating something resembling a warm cocoon against the chilly night air. Tsukishima follows warily, waving a hand through the hatch as a test before joining, plopping next to you unceremoniously.

You exhale, your breath floating upwards as you look up at the sky, stars twinkling between clouds.

The moon shines through the haze, casting a faint silver glow on the neighborhood. There is an occasional hoot from an owl, somewhere in the forest nearby, but the lights in neighboring houses are off, streets cleared of anyone else. The night is for you and him alone.

You turn to Tsukishima, calling softly. “Kei?”

He hums in the response, looking to the sky. You hesitate, almost not wanting to ask. You’re afraid to ruin his peace, his contentment, but the question has been lingering in your mind the moment you met him.

“Was it painful?”

Tsukishima stiffens. You hold your breath, waiting, waiting, waiting.

“No,” he says eventually, his shoulders tense. “I went to sleep one night and the next morning I woke up dead.”

He chuckles, bitter. “Couldn’t feel a thing.”

Tsukishima’s fingers tap against each other, restless, and your hand moves to reach for his.

_You can’t touch him._

You stop, faltering at the reminder. Tsukishima still stares at the sky, at the clouds covering the quiet brilliance of the night. His blond hair seems a shade of white, skin almost glowing in silver light.

 _Untouchably beautiful,_ you realize with a pang. _Like starlight—like moonlight._

But even so, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him look this lost.

“The ghosts I’ve met before, most went slowly,” you begin, almost a whisper. “And they remembered everything—from the moment they’re gasping for air and screaming to the moment they leave their bodies.”

You tug the blanket closer at a sudden gust of wind. “And they never forget that, Kei. They always live it out in their minds, remembering what it felt like to die. It haunts them, just like they haunt us.”

 _“Save me,”_ you remember their tears, their pain of knowing. _“Save me, help me, let me be_ free.”

“And so I,” you pause, a little shaky. “I’m glad you don’t have to go through that. I’m glad you can still watch Jurassic Park with me and yell at me until I wake up in the morning, and be able to have mundane conversations without being constantly haunted by your death, because I—”

“Thank you.”

You look at him, startled. “Huh?”

“Thank you,” Tsukishima repeats, his shoulders loosened, fingers still. “For…for everything.”

You blink at him slowly, nodding, before giving him a soft smile. You rest your hand on the roof, leaning back.

The clouds shift, moved by the wind, forming a gap large enough for light to escape the haze. Shining above them, round and clear, there is a full moon tonight.

You say your words breathlessly, tinged with a hint of fragility. “The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?”

_月が綺麗ですね？_

Tsukishima smiles back, resting his hand next to yours. He laughs at the irony of it all, recalling lessons on literature taught long ago. “I can die happy."

_死んでもいいわ。_

* * *

The moon fades, and happiness never lasts.

“Kei, _why_ —”

Your eyes are wide, breaths coming in and out in short bursts. The cup held in your hands is long gone, shattered on the floor in shards. The coffee seeps into the wood.

Tsukishima looks at his hands, eyes blank. The grain of the floorboards is visible, able to be mapped out and traced on his palms, and you’re both faced with the heavy weight of a new Truth:

_He’s disappearing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @star-puff on tumblr :)

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: @star-puff


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